


down the dark hallway together

by catmanu



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - Canadian 21st c., Political RPF - France 21st c.
Genre: Angst, Halloween, Infidelity, M/M, Macdeau, Porn with Feelings, This pairing will be the death of me, butt stuff, exercises in pure objectification, god help me, i can't read this without blushing fyi, now that i've written both POVs i can say they are both valid and wonderful, this is the first 'serious' porn i've written in years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-11-21 20:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: October, 2018.Justin invites Emmanuel to his annual Halloween party in Ottawa.There's costumes and whiskey and wives, but it's impossible to keep their feelings contained.





	down the dark hallway together

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was 100% inspired by me seeing [this photo](https://66.media.tumblr.com/e98d81249ebd3a7e2b67c47727598fb7/tumblr_po9ixvHpMz1vufho3o1_1280.jpg). You're welcome.
> 
> This was my first time writing EM's POV. We had ourselves quite a journey! I'm not sure if I've perfected it. But, as they say, practice makes perfect ;)
> 
> PS. If anyone wants to talk macdeau headcanons or anything else with me, send me a message! I can send you my tumblr, insta, etc.

With its few steps up to the front door and pumpkins adorning each one, Rideau Cottage looked like the setting of every wholesome American movie.  Inside there would be a bunch of kids, a blonde wife, and baked goods (or at least the smell of them).  A stereotypical, happy family he had come fully prepared to disrespect. 

He rang the bell.  Inside there would be Justin.

“Manu?”  Justin looked nervous in the doorway.  Emmanuel had seen that exact look on his daily scan of the Canadian news, and it always made him cringe from a desire to protect that _deer in the headlights,_ his deer in the headlights.  “You’re here earlier than I thought!”

“I texted you just before I was getting in the car,” he reminded Justin.  “You ignored me.  I was hoping you were just overcome with emotion.” 

“I have no idea where my phone is.” 

“I see.  Well, do you want me to leave and come back later?”  He raised his eyebrows.

“Little shit.  No I don’t.” That frozen look was gone now, thankfully, and the little playful gleam Emmanuel had expected had appeared.  “Let’s get you inside. It’s getting cold.”  The wind that fluttered the Canadian flag above the door so pleasantly was indeed starting to creep through Emmanuel’s wool coat.  Those soft lips kissed him on each cheek.  “But that coat _does_ look good on you.”  And one more kiss on each cheek.  At this point, the Prime Minister was taking a few liberties with etiquette.  “I just can’t believe you’re real.” 

Emmanuel had seen Justin’s electorate say the same thing about _him_ —not always in a complimentary way either.

“I’ll take your coat,” Justin said.  And then, “Where’s your costume?”

It was then, in the dim light of the entrance, that Emmanuel realized Justin seemed to be dressed up as Superman, or maybe as Superman’s nerdy human alter-ego, whatever that guy’s name was, in his familiar blue jacket and pants, a red tie, and a Superman shirt peeking out from underneath a white shirt he’d left half-unbuttoned.  Emmanuel had come to Rideau Cottage in a very presidential outfit of a dress shirt and well-fitting suit pants. He’d even put a non-costume tie on.  Justin was a fan of this look.  Or, at least, he was a fan 364 days of the year.

“You thought I was going to bring a costume?  Have you ever seen me wearing a costume?”

Though Justin caught it in time, Emmanuel saw his lip curl down just a bit.  He got pouty when he didn’t get his way.  “I love dressing up for Halloween.  Almost everyone here has a costume.  We’ve got to get you something.”

“I’d like to see you find something of yours that’ll fit me.  You’re huge.”  _In many ways_ , he thought, letting his eyes wander impolitely to see how snugly Superman’s pants fit.

Justin looked at him critically for a moment.  “Hmmm.  Wait here.  _Don’t_ go anywhere.”  And he vanished down the gloomy hallway.

It had been years since Emmanuel was the type of person to feel awkward in a social setting, but he was revisiting all that tonight.  The house sounded packed.  Music was blasting from another room, and some screaming kids ran by.  Still in the entrance hall, only the kids had seen him, and they thankfully had no idea who the fuck he was.  It was only a matter of time before one of the adults noticed him, and then what?  Did they expect the president of France to be at this party?  Had Justin turned down the music, gathered them together, and held a little town hall?  _Just so you know, I’ve invited Emmanuel Macron to this party.  Does anyone have any questions?   No, please don’t ask me about the pipeline.  No one is here to hear about the pipeline. That’s very disrespectful._

“Here.”  Superman Justin was waving a bottle at him. 

“What’s that?” 

“Hair gel.   I’m going to make you a little mohawk.  You’ll be a…punk president this Halloween.”

“For fuck’s sake, Justin, I’m not going to be any kind of punk.  I listen to _classical music._ For fuck’s sake.” 

“You used to do theater, Manu.  I have your Wikipedia page memorized.  It’s the same damn thing.  Come here.”

“No.  Get that away.”  He smacked Justin’s wrist harder than he should. 

“Are you flirting with me?” 

“Maybe.” 

In situations like these Justin’s height gave him an unfair advantage.  He pushed Emmanuel against the wall, also harder than he should.  Emmanuel figured he deserved it.  With one hand digging into Emmanuel’s shoulder, keeping him from escaping the impending doom of a Halloween costume, he popped the bottle of gel open with his teeth.  Then the familiar and enticing feeling of Justin’s large hand on him was gone, replaced by the uncomfortable feeling of something cold on his scalp and his hair being pulled slightly upward.

He sighed.  “I do things for you I wouldn’t do for anyone else.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Justin said.  “You sure do.  Ah!”  He stepped back.  “There we go.  You look amazing.  Wanna see?”

“No.” 

“Alright, then.”  He closed the bottle.  “I’m going to wash my hands, and then I’ll get you introduced.”

 

*

 

This event would be tricky to navigate, socially.  He did enjoy working a room—it was a gift not everyone had—but the party was going to push his limits and he eagerly accepted the glass of whiskey Justin shoved into his hand.  For each person Justin introduced Emmanuel to that he didn’t know—members of his cabinet, Liberal MPs, friends from other parties, other people whom he worked with—he recognized at least two from his daily journeys through Canadian current events.  It was a social tightrope act if there ever was one, trying to coordinate meeting new people, pretending familiar faces _were_ new, and resisting the urge to slide his hand around Justin’s forearm or his arm around his back and never let go.

As Angela had noted once, _You two don’t seem to care much about personal space._

The room _was_ a little frightening, but not because of Halloween.  It was chaotic, with kids in costumes, adults in costumes, so many adults in costumes, food, drinks, strange lighting, loud music, fake cobwebs…And then there was Justin, flitting between groups of people with a fresh glass of whiskey always in his hand.  Emmanuel was beginning to suspect he was drinking too much on purpose, especially for someone who said he only had a beer or two on occasion.  Even at summit dinners where the bar was always open, he never touched a drop of anything.  Emmanuel wondered if he should be concerned.  It _really_ would be nice to touch Justin, to reassure him.  To grab his arm and give it a squeeze, or wrap his hand around his wrist for a minute to keep his hands from twisting together from anxiety, as they blatantly tended to do when he felt over his head in public.  To say _my Justin, my sweet love, you don’t have to be so overwhelmed with me here, I can get us through this!_ There were opportunities for these things at their _professional_ engagements.  Whoever could have thought a global summit on climate change could feel freer than a fucking _Halloween party?_

“…leave you two to become best friends, alright?”  He blinked.  He was standing in front of a MP for…somewhere in Quebec.  That was all Emmanuel remembered about her, and he felt himself wobble precariously on his social tightrope.  He grabbed Justin’s arm before he spun away.  Just touching his _arm_ felt good.

“Save some whiskey for the rest of us, okay, Justin?” 

Justin rolled his eyes at him.  “I’ve _got_ a mother already.”  And he was gone.

“Well…” said the MP from Quebec whose name he couldn’t quite bring himself to care to ask.  “This is pretty exciting!  I didn’t expect to see _you_ outside of a G20 or something, President Macron!”

“Please, just call me Emmanuel.  I’m not even here as a president, okay?  Just a regular person.  A tourist in your beautiful country.”

“Fair enough.  Nice mohawk.” 

“What are you dressed up as?”  The particularities of Halloween party etiquette were unknown to him.

“I'm…a sexy fireman.  Fire…woman.”  She gave an embarrassed laugh.

“That’s an interesting concept.  You know…I feel like by nature, a firewoman shouldn’t be sexy.  She needs protective gear, right?” 

“I know, it doesn’t make a lot of sense.  But it’s fun.  Hey, Sophie knows you’re here, right?”

Emmanuel admitted to himself it had been stupid to hope he just wouldn’t run into her. They had met before, but only in a professional capacity, and Brigitte had been there at the time to keep her busy. 

Plus, Emmanuel tried not to think of her by name.  The dehumanization eased his guilt a little.  

“I’m afraid we haven’t gotten the chance to talk.  I’m sure she’s pretty busy, hosting such a lovely party.”

“Are you kidding?  She’d be thrilled to talk to you.  Oh, look, there she is.”  _Shit!_ Emmanuel took another drink.  The burning sensation in his chest wasn’t the most comfortable, but he’d need it for this.  “Sophie!”  The MP grabbed Sophie’s hand, pulling her into the conversation.  “Did you see who’s here?”

“Emmanuel?  Emmanuel!”  Sophie leaned in to greet him. Emmanuel couldn’t place her costume, either, but surely she was dressed as whoever Superman’s female counterpart was.  Or love interest.  “You know, I’d heard you were coming, but I sort of thought it was a joke.  Justin has a strange sense of humor.”

“It adds to his charm.”

“I wish I had known he was serious, we could have had you picked up at the airport…Well, welcome to Ottawa, and to Rideau Cottage…It’s usually a little calmer than this.” 

“It’s nice to be here.  Thanks for helping to host such a—”  He remembered to gesture with his empty hand.  The room was still too loud, there were cobweb decorations draped all over the place, and the kids were climbing on the furniture with hands full of crumbling chocolate chip cookies.  “—great party.”

“You’re welcome.  Justin and I love Halloween.”  _Justin and I._ He flashed back to the image he’d had outside among the pumpkins, of the wholesome, happy family.  “You must love Halloween too, if you flew all the way from Paris just for this.”

“Well, actually, I’ve never—”

“Soph!”  Justin crashed into the conversation at full force.  Emmanuel hadn’t even seen him coming.  “Can I grab you for a second?”

“Justin!  Calm down…please.  I was just telling Emmanuel he must love Halloween as much as we do, since he came all the way here.  How long are you in town?”

“ _Sophie!_   You _need_ to come with me, it’s important!”

 “Justin!  Not everything has to be an emergency, alright?  We’ve discussed this.”

“You’re not _listening_ to me—!”

Emmanuel wanted no part of this: not their uncomfortable couples’ argument, not the whirlpools of frustration and panic swirling in Justin’s eyes.  He emptied his glass.  “Go take care of your emergency, Justin,” he said, wondering what problem he’d invented to get Sophie away from the real one.  “I’ll go conduct some more international diplomacy.  Make a few treaties.  Maybe I’ll declare war on Canada, you never know.” 

There was nothing he could do to help him other than leave him alone.

 

*

 

Emmanuel felt like he’d been talking for so long that time must have stopped.  The playlist went back and forth between rock, pop, and genres he couldn’t name.  He must have met every single member of the Liberal party in Canada at least twice.  His anguished Prime Minister had disappeared.  

“You haven’t seen our Superman anywhere, have you?” he joked to anyone around.  His social tightrope walk was more of a suicide mission at this point.  Well, if he was going to make a fucking idiot of himself, better to do it far away from French Twitter.  He poured himself another whiskey, reminding himself to make it his last.

Superman reappeared, ducking around some glittering streamers and nodding his head at a Frankenstein’s monster.  Emmanuel felt a pang of something in his chest as he approached.  The man was beautiful, and this was torture.  It was really pure torture.  No event in history had ever been this agonizing.  He was sweating a little, and his shirt was white, so it’d be noticeable. 

“Manu!”  Justin came to a stop next to him.  “There you are.”

“What the hell was that before?” Emmanuel asked.  “Nothing’s going to happen if I talk to your wife.”

Justin sighed, grabbed Emmanuel’s glass, and took a sip from it.  For a moment, they were quiet, and standing there with their arms touching Emmanuel felt at peace despite the chaos.  This was how it should be. 

“I’m sorry,” Justin said.  “I made it weird, didn’t I?”

Emmanuel took his glass back and drank, making sure to put his lips right on the wet spot where Justin’s had been, and making sure to catch his eye while doing so.

“I think I’ve had too much to drink,” Justin blurted out.  “I don’t usually…God, it’s hot in here.”

“Is it?   You do look a little sweaty.”

“I _feel_ sweaty.  I must look awful.”

“You’re crazy, right?  I’ve never seen you look awful.  And believe me, I’ve _seen_ you.”

“Thanks, Manu.” 

Emmanuel recognized the expression in his eyes.  If they’d been alone, that Superman costume would be off.

“Do you know what I want right now?” Justin said.

“Don’t say another drink,” Emmanuel sighed. 

“No, not another drink.”  He took Emmanuel’s glass out of his hand and leaned over to set it on a table.  He leaned in such an exaggerated way that it confused Emmanuel, until he realized Justin had done it so that the erection he apparently had would collide with Emmanuel’s hip.  He was a clever drunk, if nothing else. 

“ _I’ve_ never had a whiskey dick problem,” he said, and Emmanuel figured the term was self-explanatory.

“Thanks for letting me know.  What do you want me to do about this, huh, Superman?  Should I call in a bomb threat and have them evacuate the building?” 

“Well, I—”

“Hey.  Hey. HEY!  Trudeau!”  Two burly men were walking over to them, and one of them was whacking Justin on the back.  Emmanuel imagined he was the least intoxicated adult in the place.    For all he knew, some of the kids were drunk, too. “I haven’t gotten to talk to you all evening.  We’ll see you Monday, alright?”

“Of course, and I look forward to it." 

“At eight o-fuckin-clock.  That’s a fucked-up time to hold a meeting, Trudeau.” 

“I agree.  But I didn’t choose it.  Because of scheduling conflicts…”  The deer was back, and so were the headlights.  Emmanuel felt pity.  Drunk Justin clearly couldn’t keep up with these two drunk macho men.

The other guy spoke up.  “This is quite a summit you two have going on over here!  What are you doing…Let me guess…You’re making some peace in the Middle East?”

“Nah, Bob.  They’re figuring out how to assassinate fuckin’ Trump.  Right?  Right?”

Emmanuel pulled out a tried-but-true line.  “We could tell you, but then we’d have to kill you, too, right?  You wouldn’t want that.”

“Good one.  Alright.  We’ll see you Monday.”  The first guy put on a terrible French accent.  “Bonne nuit, _Monsieur le President_.” 

Emmanuel waited a minute to turn back to Justin, who was still frozen, wide-eyed.  “I think they… _know_.”

Justin blinked and shook his head.  “They’ll forget.  They’re idiots.  I can’t stand either one of them.  God, did they say I had to meet with them Monday?  Fuck.  I better cancel it.”

“Let’s forget about them, love.”  There, that did it.  Now Justin would forget everyone but him.  “What were you saying before?  There’s something you wanted, hmmm?”

“Oh, right.  Yes.  I’m going to show you the haunted basement.”

“The…what?  The haunted basement. Is that what you’ve got in your pants?”

“ _No,_ Manu.  I’m going to take you down to the basement and show you the haunted basement.  And _then_.  I’m going to lie down and I’m going to _fuck_ you.  In the haunted basement.”

“Oh,” Emmanuel breathed.  He was of two minds about this concept.  The activity was ideal.  The setting, less so.

“And then.  I am going to _come in your beautiful ass_.  In the—”

“Yes, yes.  I get it.”  It wasn’t like Justin to be so _crude._ It was doing _something_ to Emmanuel, though he couldn’t say what.

“Okay. Um, let me just…pop over and tell Soph I’m showing you the—”

“If you say _haunted basement_ again, I’m leaving.” 

“I’ll be right back.”

 

*

 

As soon as they’d gone far enough down the hall that there was no one in sight, Justin grabbed him by the hand and dragged him over the creaking floorboards to a door tucked under a staircase.   When he opened the door there was that scent of cellar, of going down into the earth, that even the most proper of finished basements had.  Once they went down the stairs, the sounds of the party would be muted.  They’d be alone.

Emmanuel didn’t let him go down the stairs.  He’d been waiting all night for something like this to happen.  As soon as Justin closed the door behind them, he grabbed the collar of the Superman shirt and pulled slightly, bringing Justin’s lips to his.  He tasted that very same whiskey he’d had that night on Justin’s tongue.  _We must taste the same tonight,_ he thought.  He laid his fingers on Justin’s flushed cheeks and pulled him closer. 

“You are beautiful,” he said between kisses.  “Wildly.  Insanely.  And that’s how much I want you tonight, Justin.”

“Wildly?  Insanely?” 

“Exactly.”

Justin ran a hand down his chest, squeezing, almost frantic, and then grabbed at his cock, which was more than happy to respond.  Getting it up in a party full of kids, adults in costumes, and Justin’s wife wasn’t really something he could manage, but now he was making up for lost time.  Justin was pawing at him through his pants, coaxing…He bit at Justin’s lip.

“Ow, what—!” Justin exclaimed, dropping his hands.

“My love,” Emmanuel said, resting his thumb on the spot he’d bitten.  “We’re just on the stairs.  We won’t get anywhere if you keep doing that.”  He kept his eyes on Justin’s as he said this, and began running his fingers over the length of his cock through his pants.  Sure, it was the very definition of a mixed message and Justin was all too easy to overwhelm, but everything he’d been holding in the whole damn evening was starting to come to the surface, and well—now they were alone, so he could let it.  The temptation to shove those nice-fitting pants down as he so often loved to do, get down on his knees and suck Justin off till he begged him to stop was stronger than ever on this strange night.  He could easily imagine it, Justin squirming against the wall, his long legs tensing as he tried to keep himself upright.  The rest was just as easy to imagine, too, as he’d done it all before with him: he’d keep going even after Justin had shot deep down his throat, swirling his tongue round and round the treat in his mouth, even when soft Justin’s cock was somewhat of a delicacy, and as he’d done before, he’d go at it till he heard the hoarse _Manu—Manu, please stop—_  

“M—Manu?” Justin asked.  “I thought you wanted us to go downstairs fi—Oh, _God,_ Manu.”  His hand closed firmly around Emmanuel’s, forcing Emmanuel to palm his cock harder. And Emmanuel stopped. 

“No, no, you’re right,” he said. “We should get this done properly.  In the haunted basement.”  They headed down the creaking stairs.  “At the risk of using offensive language…I know you just _hate_ that…you can be a real slut sometimes.”

“That _is_ offensive.”

“I warned you.”

“Well, you started it.” 

They stepped off the stairs.  Emmanuel expected Justin to turn on a light, but he could see they might not need one.  The hall was dimly-lit by purple and green Christmas lights, giving the whole basement an unsettling feeling.  He couldn’t even see down to the end—it twisted and turned into the distance, along with the strands of little bulbs. 

“I can see why you call this haunted,” Emmanuel said. “Where does that hallway go, huh? The tenth circle of Hell?”

“It’s an old house,” Justin apologized.  “They built them creepy back then.  But, it can be very atmospheric.  Sometimes I’d come down here as a kid and read when my brothers were bothering me.”

“You had these lights down here too, then?  They still work?”  It was hard to joke when Justin was undoing his belt and pressing him into one of the dark corners, kissing him deeply while working one of his big hands underneath his pants.  When this hand met Emmanuel’s cock he moaned, involuntarily, shamelessly.  Justin moaned back and used his free hand to cup Emmanuel’s jaw. 

“I love having you at home with me,” he said.

From out of nowhere there was a piercing laugh.  Emmanuel jumped, suddenly believing in ghosts, and then remembered the party happening above them.  Someone must have been having a good time.

So was he.

“It’s _okay_ , Manu,” Justin mumbled.  “I’m here.  Nothing’s going to get you.”  Through the ceiling Emmanuel heard the song that had been playing stop and then another one, with a more pulsing beat, begin.  Not that he’d recognized anything he’d heard all evening.  The basement was just heightening his senses.  So was Justin’s hand moving between them.  They thrust against it, together, their kisses getting sloppy.  _We’ve been conditioned by these fucking global summits_ , Emmanuel thought.  He moaned again, harder, into Justin’s mouth.  He couldn’t imagine waiting to do anything else—he didn’t want to wait.  All he could think about was taking that big, thick _delicacy_ of a cock and jerking it hard, fast, ruining both their clothes.  Defiling Justin, as he deserved, and letting Justin defile him, as _he_ deserved.  He shoved his hand underneath Justin’s pants and the tight underwear he often wore and wrapped his fist tight around his cock.  Justin pulled back, stepping away from him. 

“No, no…come on,” he panted.  “All the way in the back we have a couch.  I already stashed some…y’know.”

“Lube?”

“Yeah.   We can do whatever we…Come on.”  They stumbled down the hallway until they came to a room with a big, old-looking couch.  The lights had twined their way into this room, too, casting a sickly-looking glow over everything.  It was unnerving, but only for a moment.  Emmanuel was tired of his cock straining painfully against his pants.  He stripped.  Justin didn’t take his Superman shirt off.  Emmanuel decided not to ask.  More important things were on his mind, those being the welcome appearance of Justin’s cock.  When he’d said he didn’t get _whiskey dick_ , he was being honest.  It all but sprang out of his pants, arcing upward slightly, the tip glistening just a bit in the purple light. 

“Is it too obscene to say my mouth is watering?” 

“Don’t put your mouth on it.”  Justin pulled him onto the couch and made the bottle of lube appear from somewhere as if by magic.  Maybe that was why he’d left the Superman shirt on.

“But it’s so tempting." 

"I told you what I want, Manu.”  He squeezed some lube onto his fingers and crooked them, beckoning.  “Come here.”

Emmanuel stretched out on his back.  “Uh-uh.  You come to me.”

Justin seemed incapable of resisting his directions.  Emmanuel wasn’t sure if he ever even tried.  He scooted across the couch and planted a little kiss on Emmanuel’s cock.  If anyone else had done that, he would have laughed, and not kindly.  Things were different, for some reason, with his earnest Canadian.

Justin nudged Emmanuel’s legs apart and gently slid a finger up and into his ass.  He kissed his thigh as he did, softly and with the tiniest hint of tongue, and the number of sensations at once made Emmanuel take a sharp breath.  He tried not to make too much noise, but— “Oh, God,” he moaned.  “That’s—good.”  That finger was moving slowly, deep.  He idly remembered that since they’d met for the first time in Italy, Justin was the only man he’d been with. 

Without warning, but just as gently as before, Justin worked a second finger in to join the first.  He’d never worried about being hurt with anyone, but here he _knew_ —Justin would not be careless with him.  Justin would take his time.  He gave in to the sensation of those long, confident fingers gently fucking him, stretching him, and his eyes fluttered, wanting to close, to concede something.  He made himself look.  Justin was staring at him, his mouth slightly open.

“What?”

“You’re just…every time.  I—I don’t ever want to stop looking at you.”

“Well, you’ll have to blink at some point.”

“Watch it, Manu.  I’ve got my fingers up your ass.”  He worked a third in to prove his point.  “I could do some serious damage.”

“I’m sure you could.  But you won’t, Mr. Sunny Ways.”

“Shut your _fucking--_ ”

“No, you shut your fucking mouth.  You’re my sweet, peaceful boy, hmmm?”  He reached up and cupped Justin’s cheek.  Justin shivered, his eyes quickly getting a glazed look in the strange light.  “All you want is peace and equity and to fuck me in your basement with your whole cabinet _riiight_ upstairs.”

“Yes.  All of those things,” Justin murmured.  His fingers moved so sweetly doing their job.  Emmanuel wondered if he’d ever practiced this on himself.  He reached for Justin’s cock and gave it a firm squeeze.  It twitched slightly in his hand.

“Fuck.  I only care about that third thing right now.  Who am I fooling, right?”  He grabbed Emmanuel’s wrist.  “Move your hand.”

“I’d rather not.” He ran his thumb over the tip and circled, circled, his thumb getting stickier by the moment.  

“Move it, Manu.”

“Why?” 

“I want to _last_.  You know how it can be.  With you.”

“Yes, yes.  I do.”  He let go.  His hand felt empty.   “It’s cute.” 

“Shhhh.”  Justin ran his hand over Emmanuel’s lips, letting his thumb drift between them.  Now that possessive hand was cradling the side of his head.  He slowly pulled his fingers out, and that feeling of emptiness switched from Emmanuel’s hand to his ass.  “How are you feeling, Manu?”

“Very ready.” 

“Mmmmm...good.”  And he stretched out on his back, pulling Emmanuel with him.  Emmanuel straddled his legs and let their cocks brush together.  They seemed to shiver at once. 

“Be _careful,_ Manu!  I just told you.  I want to—”

“You want to last.  I know, my love.  And it’s so _hard_ for you, isn’t it?” He reached for the lube, squeezed some into his palm, and glided it over Justin’s cock.  The tone he had to use when talking about this—balancing on tiptoe just on the border between _teasing_ and _mocking_ —was an art, and he’d perfected it.  “I’ve seen how hard you have to work at it.”

“Why do you point that out every fucking time?  You do it _every. Fucking. Time_.”  Justin held his cock steady, letting Emmanuel position himself above it.

“Because you like how you feel when I do.”

Justin nudged his cock against Emmanuel’s ass.  “Come on, Manu.  _Please_ don’t make me keep waiting.”

“You sound so beautiful saying _please_ ,” Emmanuel said softly. “It suits you, hmm?” 

And he worked himself down onto Justin’s cock as Justin pushed up, his hand gripping the base. His lips curled as he felt himself stretched, and a sound halfway to a snarl came out of his mouth.  He couldn’t help it; anyway, Justin sounded just as undignified in the moment if not more so.  For him, the better it felt, the higher the pitch.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Mr. Right Honourable Prime Minister.”

“Stop it…I’m not your prime minister.  I’m y—”  His eyes closed for a moment.  He made it all too obvious when there was something he didn’t want to reveal.  Emmanuel, sitting there letting himself relax around all the cock inside him, decided not to pursue it. 

He breathed, relaxing, watching Justin settle.  They stayed like that, just like that.  If this were an everyday occurrence, they might not have needed to wait.  Why _weren’t_ the damn NATO summits longer, anyway?  But sitting atop Justin’s cock wasn’t an everyday occurrence. 

He rolled up Justin’s shirt so he could look at more of him.

“This is killing me,” Justin mumbled.  “How are you doing?”  He grabbed Emmanuel’s hands, lacing their fingers together.  “Are you okay?”

God, those concerned questions should have been a turnoff, but they weren’t.  _They weren’t._   Emmanuel leaned down to kiss him.  When he did, the angle of Justin’s cock inside him changed, and it jolted Justin into action.  He began to thrust his hips upward.  Emmanuel braced himself, fingers splayed on the couch.  This was going faster than it should be at the beginning.  Alcohol slowed most people down, but it seemed to have stirred something up in Justin instead.  Maybe the alcohol wasn’t even a factor at this point.  He felt his cock rub against Justin’s stomach.  The sensation was unlike anything else, it was a luxury, a delicacy in its own right.  It was different than a fist, it was different than taking five frenzied minutes to rub their cocks together before some meeting about Brexit.  It was subtle, soft.  Theirs.

Below him Justin was having a difficult time.  His fingers were curling into the cushions; he was breaking a real sweat now, his hair starting to stick to his forehead.  “Fuck, Manu...”  He bit his lip, and Emmanuel watched the muscles in his stomach clenching.

“Wild boy, hmmm?” Emmanuel spread his hands over Justin’s hips, gripping them, slowing them.  “But you can’t keep going so _fast_ with your Manu in this position. You’ll split him in half.  You know how big you are.”

Justin reached and wrapped his hand around Emmanuel’s cock. “Can I?”

“You’re supposed to ask consent before you touch,” Emmanuel said, forcing his voice to sound as normal as possible. Justin always marveled at his self-control.  But the truth was, it took almost every ounce of strength he had to be that way, to keep himself from fucking Justin’s fist with complete abandon and finishing sloppily in an embarrassing ten seconds.

The self-control only came out at these times, with this person underneath him. With others it had never been worth it.

“Well, you know what?  I don’t fucking care.”

“That doesn’t go so well with your public image,” Emmanuel breathed, rubbing that heaving stomach again. He took a steadying breath, lifted himself up just a little, and sank down hard onto Justin’s cock. Justin’s mouth formed a silent O and his eyes squinted. 

He smiled and continued to move, riding harder and harder.  No matter that it was usually Justin who penetrated.  That was only a physical thing, a technicality.  This was always the point when everything started to shift.

The smile was hard to keep up, and he let his face turn feral.  He’d had enough of being civilized, of talking, of that fucking _self-control._ Yes, Justin loved that self-control…and loved it even more when he lost it.  He leaned forward again, as far as he could go, and then all sensation and movement became a blur as they found a rhythm.  They always found one, no matter what they were doing, but this one tonight was fierce, intense in a way he’d never experienced.  He found himself moving violently, the word that came to mind was _impaling_ himself, if impaling could ever feel this fucking perfect.  He reached for something to grab.  He needed something, anything—His hand found its way into Justin’s thick hair and pulled.  Justin didn’t like this, but it was, sometimes, too hard to stop.

“No, Manu, don’t—don’t—”  Justin grabbed his hand and pulled it down to his mouth, where he began kissing his fingers.  It was clumsy.  It was sincere.  Each time Justin’s tongue touched his skin, Emmanuel felt it in his cock like he’d been licked _there._   He was wild underneath Emmanuel, but his fist was firm around his cock, his arm was steady. 

“You’re not _real_ , are you?”  Emmanuel asked, remembering something from earlier.  His hips were going as fast as they could, circling, meeting Justin’s thrusts from underneath him, and the feeling was indescribable.  “You can’t be real.  Tell me I dreamed you.”

Justin shook his head and spoke between shallow, shuddering breaths.  “I’m _real_ ,” he panted, “I’m _real_ , Manu, I’m—I’m—”  He let go of Emmanuel’s cock and wrapped both hands around his hips, lifting him up, shoving him down, holding him steady.  His grip was so passionately strong it should hurt, and yet it never did.  “— _yours—_ I’m—I mean— _fuck—_ ”

And the legs Emmanuel was straddling tensed underneath him, and Justin’s hips arched up sharply, involuntarily— _well, here we go_ —and as soon as he heard the first _“Manu!”_ he grabbed his cock—swollen, hot, leaking desperately—and went for it.  Three quick jerks, the exact opposite of self-control, was all he needed.  Justin was whining unselfconsciously, saying nonsense.  Emmanuel fell slightly forward, barely remembering to aim towards himself, and opened his mouth.  He thought he said Justin’s name.  It felt like he had.

He slowed down, his body moving in uncontrollable twitches just as he felt Justin’s cock doing inside him, and they slowed, slowed—

And he looked down, surveying the damage.  He imagined they always looked completely ravaged, pornographic, even.  But appealingly so, good-looking couple that they were.  His chest and stomach were a sloppy mess, and his chin felt wet.  Apparently he’d drooled a little without realizing.  He was pleased.  It was always a treat to be put-together in public and quite the opposite in private. 

Justin was opening his eyes, looking wilted on the couch.  Emmanuel gently pushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead.

“Well, hello there,” he said, smiling so wide it hurt his face.  He was good at knowing what to say, but never in these moments.

Justin smiled back and the smile turned into a soft, breathless laugh.  He slid his hands off Emmanuel’s hips and down his legs.  Emmanuel took them in his own. 

“I’m still not sure you’re real,” he continued.  If they were in Italy or Hamburg or someplace like that, this is when he’d climb off, curl up, pass out.  What would they do here?  Justin had stopped laughing.

“Do you have anything I can clean up with?" 

“Some fake cobwebs?”

“Be serious, please.”

“No, Manu.  I don’t.”

Emmanuel was forced to use his tie that he’d draped over the back of the couch, of all things, to clean himself off.  

“Justin.  Hey.  Are you okay?”  He suddenly didn’t _look_ okay.  Emmanuel wiggled his ass off of Justin’s softening cock and stretched out on his side next to him on the couch.  He was a little sore, but he wasn’t one to be bothered much by that.  “Talk to me, love.”  He kissed Justin’s sweaty cheek and laid a hand on his stomach, feeling it rise and fall with each erratic breath.

“That was amazing, Manu. It was…so passionate.  Almost like we were _made_ to do this.”  Emmanuel gave a quiet sigh.  This kind of thing was inevitable.  When his grandchildren grew up, he’d advise them to be wary if dating a theater kid with a degree in English literature.  _The post-coital talk might be unbearable,_ he warned a future grown-up grandchild.  _Consider one of those ball gags._ “And now I don’t think we should have done it.  I don’t feel good about it.”

“What?  Why not?  From any standpoint it was incredible.  Objectively, subjectively…and it was consensual, right?”  Emmanuel let his fingers scurry over Justin’s stomach and chest.  “If anything…You were the one who brought me down here.  You were quite forceful, remember?”

“Manu, I’m not trying to imply you took advantage of me.  And I don’t like the idea that you’re thinking of me as _coercive._ You know me better than that.  That’s pretty offensive, actually.  I’d like you to ap—”

“That’s not happening.  What were you trying to say?”

“This is my home.”  Justin closed his eyes.  Emmanuel watched the flickering green and purple lights play across his eyelids.  “Where Soph and my kids are.  And uhh, we just fucked till I _yelled_ your name—”

“That’s nothing new…”

“—right underneath them.”  He covered his face.

“For some reason…” The realization was creeping up on Emmanuel, and it wasn’t comfortable.  “I thought you had told Sophie that we were going to be…”

“No.   No.  Just that I was showing you the basement.”

“So she doesn’t know.”

“Uhhh…”  Emmanuel let him keep his face covered.  “Ummm.   No.  She doesn’t.  And when we’re in some hotel in Italy, or…It feels so distant and unreal, almost like a work of fiction but better. I can justify it somehow, there.  But here…Does Brigitte know?”

“Of course.” 

“Of course?”

“Yes.”  Emmanuel was irritated.  Maybe Justin shouldn’t be entitled to every detail of his personal life.  Clearly he hadn’t been entitled to _his._ “Some things have come up over the years, and we’ve worked it out.  She’s happy for me these days.  She encouraged me to come to Ottawa.”

“Oh.”

The floor creaked overhead, and more laughter trickled down into the basement.  He’d almost forgotten about the party. 

“Sophie doesn’t know any of that,” Justin continued.  “About me. It’s not that I’m ashamed.  It’s just hard…it’s vulnerable.  It’s hard for me to feel that way, it’s, ummm…Well, and she knows from time to time I enjoy being on the _receiving_ end of anal play.  But that’s not gay in itself.”

“Of course not.” 

“So are you going to tell her?”

“Ummm…No.  I don’t know.  I’m not sure.  I—That’s not a deal-breaker, is it?  Between us? I love you, Manu.  I really—”

Emmanuel couldn’t handle any more of that kind of talk.  He felt something a little less than loving right now, anyway.  “Of course it’s not a…deal-breaker.  Your marriage isn’t my business.”  He got up, wincing a little, and began looking for his shirt in the gloomy light.  “It’s just a bit sad, no?”  He found it and slid it on over his shoulders, trying to move as carefully as he could.  “But I’m not in charge of your morals, or whether you have them or not, so it’s up to you.”

Justin grabbed his hand.  “No, Manu, don’t get dressed yet…”

“Justin, for fuck’s sake, get it together.  You’re sending me very mixed messages.  Are you tortured by an ethical dilemma, or do you want me to stay and cuddle you in your basement?”

“You’re right.”  He pulled himself up and sat on the edge of the couch next to Emmanuel.  “Uh, I’m sorry to ask, but…could you hand me your tie?”

Even once they’d put themselves back together, Justin seemed in no mood to go back to the party.  Emmanuel felt similarly.  He decided he’d leave once they got back upstairs.  They stayed sitting on the couch.  Even their bathroom-stall dry humping was better than this.  Quite a bit better.  At least they left those bathrooms haughty and smirking, more united each time.

“We’ve got the G20 coming up in a month, right?  We’ll have time then.”  He snapped his fingers in front of those sad blue eyes.  Their color was hard to see in the dim light, but hadn’t he had all of Justin committed to memory since they first met in Taormina?  “Hey.  Stop pouting.” 

“I’m entitled to my feelings.”

“Not these.  You’re forty-six, not four plus six, right?”

“I am _entitled_ to my—”

“Don’t act like you’re clueless.  _I_ know you’re not.”  Emmanuel wrapped his arm around Justin’s back, as he had so many times in public. “You’re not going to be able to have everything I think you want from me.  You know that.”  The words were hard to find.  “And maybe I won’t, either…at the moment, I don’t know.  But we _will_ have the G20.  And then…whatever comes after.” 

Justin still looked sad, but he had lost the petulance.  “Buenos Aires seems romantic,” he said.  “And then we can add another continent to our list, right?”  Emmanuel had the sudden image of Justin doodling a little map in his office.  _Places we’ve fucked._ He smiled.  Justin abruptly stood up and held out his hands.  “Come on, my Manu.  Let’s go back upstairs.  You’ve lost your mohawk.  And your tie.  What’s your costume now?”

“Me.  Just me, okay?  No more costumes.”

Justin led him quietly back through the twists and turns, through all the strangely-lit crevices, and back up the stairs.  The music still played overhead, but the party sounded calmer. 

They had been in the basement a long time. 

“Wait,” Justin said, his hand resting on the doorknob.  “Do you want to spend the night here?  We have lots of room.  Then tomorrow morning you could finally meet my kids.  I could even make you pancakes.  I _would_ make you pancakes.  What do you think?”  He smiled innocently, as if he actually thought this was a good idea. 

Emmanuel had let himself imagine this on occasion—watching Dad Justin make pancakes on a Sunday morning in soft plaid pajama pants and a proudly nerdy shirt. Star Wars, probably.  He didn’t actually know what Justin wore to sleep—on their few nights together, the answer had been _not much_ —but it was a nice, calming thing to imagine.  It would have to stay imagined. 

“You know I can’t do that,” he said.  “It would be very complicated, and it would be very unfair.  Hard on you, too.  I don’t want that." 

“You’re right…Sorry, I think my head’s on a different planet tonight.  Krypton, I guess.”

“Why should today be different than any other day, right?”

“Hey, fuck you, Manu.”  And they leaned toward one another and kissed softly on the lips.  No tongue, mouths barely open.  Softly.

As soon as they stepped through the door, Emmanuel watched Justin readjust his whole persona.  Perhaps he didn’t even realize.  He straightened up, lifted his head, pushed his shoulders back, and went from _debased in the basement_ to _politician and party host_ within a manner of seconds.  It was extraordinary.  But he must be doing the same thing himself, he thought.  They were both politicians.  It’s what they did.

 But even politicians could take the long walk back down the dark hallway together. 


End file.
